Say Goodnight, Not Goodbye
by Irelandblue
Summary: Who was the first person to pull George back into the land of the living after the Final Battle? It's been done many times over, but not quite like this... just a brief snapshot of a single conversation between old friends with nothing truely non-canon.


A/N: I actually have identical twin sisters and some of the ways that George reacts are exactly the ways that I have seen my sisters react to being separated… and both of them are alive and well.

This is my first fan fiction for Harry Potter and my first piece of fiction in a very long while…. I make no promises, but I would love a review of my latest drabble. Oh yeah, bonus points for anyone who knows the movie George references.

…… Oh yeah, I don't own any of this. I am merely borrowing it for a while.

*Equal parts of Bass pale ale and Guinness stout make a Black and Tan, a pretty famous beer drink.

Scottish Dialect Glossary:

Aye- yes

Braw- Brave

Bairn- Child

Lad/laddie- boy

Wee- small or young

______________________________________________________________________________

"Keep my light in your eyes. Say goodnight, not goodbye"

Beth Neilson Chapman "Say Goodnight, Not Goodbye"

"Tell them of us and say: For their tomorrow, we gave our today"- anonymous

The War was over- it had been over now for a little more than a week. Voldemort was gone for good. The Horcruxes had been destroyed, Harry was alive, and all was finally right with the world… well, not quite right, but it would be… someday. For now, just tending to the wounded, counting the losses, and mourning the fallen was good enough. Hogwarts, the scene of the last battle, was also the cornerstone in this mission for a return to normalcy.

It was a rare moment of rest for the newly appointed Headmistress, and Minerva McGonagall was observing the aftermath of her second Wizard War taking place within the Great Hall. From the chair at the head table where she had listened to countless speeches by Dumbledore, witnessed decades of Sortings, and observed her students- her children- grow to become future wizards and witches, Professor McGonagall now watched as those same children, forced into maturity well before their time, struggle to pick up the pieces of their shattered youth and slowly mend their injured bodies and psyches. As a teacher, she had worked so hard to protect them, shield them from the nightmare that was this war, only to have it thrust upon them here in the hallowed halls of their beloved school. In her heart, she heard the familiar mourning tune… _"Ye'll take the High Road, an' I'll take the Low Road…"_ and she smiled sadly. _Leave it to the Scots to write such a sad song to such a simple tune_, Minerva mused_._

The High Road, she reckoned, was definitely the most painful to travel. For those on the High Road, after all, were the ones that had to learn to live again- to find their peace within the pain of loss and woe. "_Lacrimosa dies illa… Ah that day of tears and mourning", those words have never rung more true, _thought Minerva solemnly_. _The dissonant refrains of weeping, lullabies, and murmured words of love and consolation mingled together into a somber symphony that filled the Great Hall, though, Minerva noted ruefully, the music of laughter- a familiar harmony to Hogwarts- failed to be included in this mournful composition.

Everywhere she looked, McGonagall's heart swelled with pride and broke with sorrow for her children as she witnessed countless acts of humanity and kindness around her- students from all different houses comforting and supporting each other with little more than an embrace or touch of the hand. All around her was a tumultuous mix of students, parents, order members, house elves, and others pouring out their grief each in their unique ways. Some, like Poppy and Mrs. Weasley, had thrown themselves into caring for the wounded- bandaging cuts, administering potions, and performing counter-curses. Others, such as the house-elves and several members of the DA, were tending to the physical needs of others by bringing food, blankets, and steaming cups of tea and coffee to the masses. Still others had begun the hard work of rebuilding and restoring Hogwarts to its former glory.

Minerva silently rejoiced with her students and peers over the many tearful reunions of friends, lovers, brothers and sisters, wives and husbands, fathers, mothers, and children who had lost each other during the battle and were now able to gather their family units together and take their final head counts. Of course, there were those who had to find one or more of their kin among the makeshift morgue set up at the back of the great hall… those beloved heroes who sacrificed everything to take the Low Road home; those happy few who had moved beyond this world to a place of eternal peace and rest.

Minerva closed her eyes as she remembered an ancient prayer for the departed, "_Réquiem ætérnam Dona eis Dómine; et lux perpétua lúceat eis. Requiéscan in pace. Amen. Eternal rest, grant to them, O Lord; Let your perpetual light shine upon them. May they rest in peace, Amen." _Among these heroes were some of her most memorable students- Remus "Moony" Lupin-the last of the Marauders and his wife Nymphadora Tonks, little Colin Creevey- though his wasn't so little anymore… and half of the most memorable and devious duo of pranksters to walk the halls of Hogwarts, Fred Weasley. Again, that small somber smile from earlier flitted across her features. _I thought those two would have been the death of me during school…not that one of them would go first._

McGonagall glanced over at the unusually still and silent form of George Weasley, Fred's surviving twin and former partner in crime, sitting on the far end of the Gryffindor table, and couldn't seem to stop the lone tear from tumbling down her still damp cheek. She didn't even have the heart to wipe it away. She watched him staring straight ahead as if he were focused on seeing through the wall on the other side of the room and yet, not seeing anything. No trace of his usual perma-grin appeared upon his stony countenance. In fact, if he hadn't been sitting up and methodically eating a bowl of muggle cereal that one of the house-elves had brought him (_Winky, I think_), McGonagall would have believed him to be a muggle wax statue- made to look like George, but whose face was as wooden as a Japanese Noh mask. _Ah, George Weasley_, she thought to herself, _my little prankster. If there was any way I could make you smile again…T'is far more painful to take the High Road, lad…_

She watched him as he continued to take bite after bite of cereal, bowl after bowl, until she realized that he didn't actually taste what he was eating- (_Lucky Charms_, she dolefully reflected with a hint of irony) he was just going through the motions. The rest of his family, she observed, were handling things in their own way, each comforting the other… but George seemed to have separated himself from them.

Slowly and quietly, Minerva made her way through the maze of sleeping bags, tables, chairs, and people to finally crouch down in front of George. He showed no signs of perceiving her presence and was still pouring what seemed to be cereal dust into his bowl. He sat the cardboard box back on the table and continued to scoop the pulverized bits of oat cereal and marshmallows into his mouth. Scoop, open, insert, close, chew, swallow, repeat…

Gently, and with a practiced soothing tone from her years of comforting youngsters dealing with everything from a skinned knee or stomachache to divorce and, most heartbreaking, death, the professor eased the spoon away from George. "Here George, lad, I think you've had enough." George blankly nodded his head, his hand devoid of his spoon, and reached for the now empty cereal box in front of him.

Realizing that George was still not registering changes in his environment and would need further feedback, Minerva stood carefully to take a seat next to him on the bench and waited patiently as George attempted to pour another bowl. When the box had been tipped completely vertical and he still had not heard the familiar clink of toasted oat shapes and crunchy marshmallow bits against the smooth ceramic bowl, George finally returned to the world, if only for a moment. With disconsolate eyes, he looked into the haggard, but compassionate, face of his former teacher- though never fully meeting her eyes with his.

"Professor," his weedy voice hitched as if he was speaking with a Golden Snitch stuck in his craw, "Professor… Fre…F..F--Fred's really gone, isn't he?" It was more a statement than a question, but still he looked up at her with eyes pleading for her to tell him this was all a dream, a nightmare. How she wished that it was that simple. How she wished that she could have embraced him as she had when he was a first year and woken up in the middle of the night crying because he'd had a night terror from being away from home for the first time. But a hug and cup of hot cocoa weren't going to fix this…. he was no longer a first year, and this was sadly not a dream.

She gently put her small arm around his shaking shoulders; still speaking in her smooth, comforting tones, "aye, dear…" she bit her lip as her eyes filled unbidden with hot tears, "aye dear, he is…"

At that, George finally shattered and collapsed into his teacher, his second mother for so many years during his time at Hogwarts. He poured out all the pain and suffering, the hurt and grief that had been building up since he saw his best friend and brother laying in the Great Hall dead before his very own eyes. George's entire body shook with the force of his release. Minerva held the boy, stroking his flame-red hair and rubbing his back as she had those many years ago when he was just a little boy. "Ah, me wee braw laddie, there there… bairn, shhhh… braw bairn, shhh…" McGonagall murmured softly in the thick brogue and folk vernacular that tended to sneak out during times of great stress as she gently cradled the weeping young man.

After a few moments, George was able to calm himself down enough to sit up. Dismayed with himself over his vulnerable and self-indulgent behavior, in front of an Order member and professor no less, George began to apologize, but was abruptly stopped by McGonagall who carefully took his now ruddy face into her slim, cool hands. "George," she croaked, her eyes piercing his and forcing him to focus on her words. She cleared her throat and tried again. "George," she murmured, her voice gaining strength and confidence, yet never losing the soothing quality, "You have no reason to be ashamed."

Minerva gently wiped a stray tear from George's cheek with her thumb as she took her hands from his face and took his hand instead, still holding his gaze with her own. Once she saw that he was focused on her and attentive to her words, her tone regained a touch of its usual austerity, though still gentle. "Do you honestly think you are the only one who has shed more than a few tears in this hall? Every person in here has been touched by the loss of death and is grieving in his or her own way. Grown men have been brought to their knees and shaken to their very cores that haven't lost nearly as much as you." She sat back for a moment to let George process this information. She watched him closely as he closed his eyes as her words sank into his shell-shocked brain.

Slowly, he began speaking- staring down at the table as he spoke. "Professor," whispered George as fresh tears of grief and humiliation sprang to his red-rimmed eyes, "I don't know how to be me without him. It's like I've lost a piece of my soul. I keep thinking that I am going to turn around and see him sitting across from me and laughing at was a 'git' I am and chortling 'didn't I pull the best prank ever! Boy, I got you good!'" At this, George gave an involuntary, mirthless snort and closed his eyes for a moment, seeing Fred's smirking face in front of him.

George took a deep breath and snuck a peek at his teacher's face, her eyes now quite bright with unshed tears. He bowed his head again. Carefully, he went on, "We've never been apart for more than a few weeks, and even then we talked constantly through owls and fireplace calls." He took a deep breath, and continued, his tone growing more cynical with every word. "That was hard enough. Now I can't even talk to him… and this is for the rest of my life."

George glared acrimoniously at his empty cereal bowl for a moment, and then his eyes softened as he whispered incredulously, "It just doesn't seem real. How do I run the joke shop without him? Who is going to help me create new products? Who will I play Quidditch with? The 'Human Bludgers' are gone- no more. When I get married, who will be my best man? Hell, forget marriage, who's gonna give final approval on my dates?" He again stared at the table, his shoulders shuddering with every breath. Minerva watched as his eyes grew hard and embittered as he felt the true weight of his loss finally begin to settle onto his heart.

For a moment, his face went blank and it seemed as if he was shutting himself off emotionally again- going back into shock. _Keep him talking, Minerva_, she thought to her self, _just keep him talking._ She glanced at the young man and gave his hand a small squeeze. "Go on, lad… I'm listening," her quiet voice coaxed. Finally, his eyes snapped back into reality and George looked into Minerva's eyes voluntarily for the first time since the Final Battle- actually it was the first time he had looked anyone in the eye since that time. In his eyes, Minerva could see the depth of pain that he was in as he transitioned through the stages of grief.

George took a deep breath, "Life as a twin can be so frustrating- you are your own person with your own personality, but you are forever tied to another whose personality may be totally opposite of yours, but you compliment each other," he stated bitterly. "He is- WAS- the ideas man. I was- AM- the engineer. When it came to the shop, figures and money flowed through his fingers like water. I was the one that did the books and looked for more cost-effective alternatives to his more extravagant ideas." George paused, eyes downcast as he heard in his head the arguments he and Fred had on a daily basis over money. "I can still see his face when it came to ideas for the shop- especially when he got what I liked to call his 'Rogers and Hammerstein' look- whoever they are."

At this, Minerva crooked an eyebrow, "Rogers and Hammerstein? The American muggle musical theater playwrights?"

George looked up sheepishly. "It was a line from an old muggle movie from across the pond. Hermione and Harry showed us it one year and Fred and I thought it was pretty funny. I thought that one of the main characters, Bob Wallace, and Fred were cut from the same cloth- including the red hair! I, of course, identified with Phil Davis, now complete with using my ear to make Fred feel guilty when I wanted something, - Phil Davis's character used a broken arm as his 'guilt injury' of choice" he explained, embarrassed by this abrupt admission of interest in the Muggle world- after all, it was his dad that was into that stuff, not him… right? Yeah. Yeah, that's it. He heard Minerva suppress a chuckle at this, and a small ghost of a smile flitted across his face for a moment. Just as quickly, his face hardened as if, because his usual partner-in-mirth was no longer there, he was no longer allowed to smile or remember happier times. Minerva saw the changed and sighed inwardly. _Baby steps_, she thought distractedly.

"But we were opposites outside the shop, too," George sputtered. "Fred used to infuriate me because he was the one that was the most outgoing and grand, and I was always less comfortable with people and situations I didn't know. He never met a stranger and had brass balls the size of all of Great Britain. I was just the tag-a-long that propped up his jokes." At this his eyes quickly narrowed in resentment against the brother who was no longer with him to be the Bass to his Guinness*.

Just as quickly, he looked at Minerva with eyes so heartbreakingly miserable, she was rendered speechless. He shook his head forlornly, "What I wouldn't give to argue with him over the cost of some new invention of his or to hear his laughter as he joked with everyone in the hall… Now, I don't know if I could laugh if I wanted to without him there to egg me on." He buried his face in his hands at this- as if not seeing the world would make this a dream and his brother would still be here with him.

Slowly, he moved his hands out from in front of his mouth, but still held his head up with them, his elbows resting heavily on his knees as he spoke. "You know," he said sullenly, "he made me promise to keep the shop open if anything happened to either of us, he even tried to make me take an Unbreakable Vow; but I don't know how I'm going to go in there knowing his not with me anymore." Again, tears threatened to fall from his already blood-shot eyes. Angrily, he wiped them away.

_Ah_, Minerva thought, _and there is the rub._ "George, may I ask you a question?" Minerva asked gently, but didn't bother waiting for George to answer, as she was his professor after all. "George, how would you want Fred to react if it were you that passed away? Would you want him to never smile or laugh, give up the shop, or close himself off to those that love him or would you rather him remember you fondly, letting your memory live in his soul, and go on living, knowing that someday you would be reunited?"

George was silent for a moment, thinking long and hard about what his professor just said. After a while, he shook his head and smiled ruefully. "I would come back from the dead to kick his butt if I found that he had stopped living just because I wasn't there. It wouldn't have been his fault that I died and I would never want him to feel that way. I wouldn't expect him to forget me, but I wouldn't want him to be unhappy forever, either." Again, the corners of his mouth twitched as he envisioned himself coming back to knock his twin upside the head if he decided to completely stop living- the look on Fred's face would have been priceless.

Minerva noticed this and took it as a good sign- she of all people knew that the two most powerful pieces of magic and healing were love and laughter. She pressed forward, again taking George's hand and gently forcing him to look her in the eyes. "It's ok to never forget your brother, and even ok to miss him forever," she said carefully. "The death of a loved one isn't something that you ever get over… you just learn to live with it and to honor their memory with how you live your life. It's ok if you find yourself having a hard time doing things by yourself that you used to do with Fred, and it's even ok if you don't do some of these things for a little while. Eventually you will. You are right, the first times you go back to the shop, it's going to be immensely difficult- and you may want to get some extra help, especially in the very beginning, because just the day to day work is going to be exhausting." She paused for a moment, letting George process what she was saying. Once his eyes lost their glazed look, she continued.

"The most important thing you can do now is to remember that you never really say goodbye to the ones you love. Fred's love, his light, lives within you and will be remembered every time you create a new product for the joke shop, pull a prank, or simply laugh. Instead of saying goodbye, say goodnight- and know that eventually you will be reunited with Fred- just not too soon." Minerva then took a deep breath, what she was going to tell her former student was not common knowledge, but it may help him in his grieving process to know that he was not alone.

"George, did you know that I was -am- a twin?" He looked up sharply at this admission.

"No Ma'am. I did not know that… who is your twin?" George asked quietly.

"I never got to know my twin, he passed away, but that doesn't stop me from missing him every day of my life- nor does that make me any less of a twin." Minerva said gently, but with great conviction.

"Ma'am? If I may, what happened to your twin?" his eyes searched Minerva's as sought out the connection that only a shared grief and experience could bring.

Minerva looked thoughtfully at George for a moment, as if still battling her decision to share such a personal piece of information with a student, or to remain professionally aloof. Finally, the grieving twin heard his teacher's voice quietly speaking in a far-away voice- as if she was years away from him, and not mere inches. "I say that I am a twin because I am still alive, but there was a time that I shared a womb simultaneously with a sibling. It happened very long ago. When we were born, John, my twin brother, was very ill. He passed away within a week of being born." George studied the headmistress's face as she continued.

"Growing up, I always felt that I was missing a part of me… that I wasn't whole somehow. I didn't find out until I was much older that my twin had passed away shortly after birth. Honestly, I still feel that I am missing part of myself sometimes. However, when those feelings begin to come over me, I pull out my brother's baby blanket that my parents gave to me the day I left for Hogwarts as a student. Holding that blanket reminds me that I haven't forgotten John and that one day he and I will be together and I will get to know my brother." Minerva paused for a moment, envisioning the now-tattered pale blue square of cloth that still lay across her bed. She smiled apologetically at George.

"You are so lucky, George, though I know it doesn't feel that way right now. You will not only have mementos of Fred, but you will also have tangible memories. You will be able to describe your brother to your children, grandchildren, nieces, and nephews. You will be able to honor his memory every day. Your brother died to live freely- he would want you to continue to live, cherishing the freedom he gave his life to protect. He will never be truly gone from your life, George. He will always live through you and through everyone who was touched by his enduring, mischievous, loyal, and loving spirit. As I said earlier, this physical separation between you and your twin is not saying goodbye, lad, this is merely saying goodnight for a while" Minerva paused again, as George soaked up the information his professor shared with him. Finally, after what seemed like years, George spoke again.

"Professor," he began slowly- his voice still low and husky with emotion, "Thank you for listening to me and for sharing your own experience." He wiped a lone tear sliding down his cheek away with the back of his hand. "I am so proud of Fred- of what he did and gave freely. I am going to miss him for the rest of my life. At least he didn't die in vain, right?" Minerva nodded at this, letting him finish verbalizing his emotions without interruption.

"Right, V-v-**Voldemort** is gone, gone for good. We did what we set out to do… " at this, his voice faltered for a minute. He looked at his professor as fresh tears shone in both pairs of eyes. She reached out and gave his hand a squeeze. He gave her a smile- a real smile, albeit a small one. Then he squared his shoulders and continued speaking. "Fred used to say that there was nothing the couldn't be fixed with a laugh and a joke- so, for him, I will continue on… I may not take over the shop right away, but rest assured WWW will reopen. You're right- Fred would kick me in the arse (sorry professor) if I were to give up laughter altogether." With that, he stood up and turned to his professor. "Thank you, again, Professor." The tall young man bent down and gave his mentor a heartfelt hug and a kiss on the cheek and then, for the first time in days, walked out of the Great Hall with a renewed spirit. Minerva watched him leave, a smile of understanding playing on her lips. Time alone would tell how much he actually absorbed from this meeting. She knew he was no where near the end of his grieving- he still had a long way to go; but for the time being at least, he was trying to find his balance. For that, she was grateful.

Twenty minutes later, while Minerva sat with another group of students who needed a sympathetic ear and a third party to comfort them, she heard a loud crack followed by a series of smaller crackles from the other end of the Great Hall. She didn't even need to look up to know what was going on- she had become quite accustomed to that sound during the last four years, but she looked up anyway. There before her in a glittering display of wizarding pyrotechnics was the head of a tawny lion surrounded by a black and white badger, a raven the color of midnight, and small green serpent. Above those animals flew a phoenix resplendent in fiery tones carrying a banner that proclaimed "**Ubi concordia, ibi victoria** - _Where is the unity, there is the victory._!" Immediately, the Hall erupted into cheers and laughter- a welcomed cacophony to so many. Minerva looked to the back of the hall and caught the mischievously glinting eye of her former student. For the first time in recent memory, McGonagall stood alongside her students, colleagues, and parents alike and openly applauded the prank… a worthy tribute to those they lost and those left to carry on.


End file.
